Spring Awakening
Build the container and rest, knowing that it will be filled.
Chag Pesach Sameach (Happy Passover) to those who celebrate and happy full moon in Scorpio. This week has been a week over here, getting hit with yet another virus for the season (are we done yet?) and because of this I’ve been feeling a little trapped in my own body. Tomorrow, we are adopting a puppy and I am feeling excited, nervous, and joyful all at once. I can’t wait to meet her and introduce her to all of you. It certainly feels as though the next chapter is unfolding.
As most of you know, I have been living in the woods, in a small town where Dan grew up. We moved here last August temporarily, and as we almost reach August again I wonder what temporary really means at its core. I think we can all agree that nothing in life is permanent really, but as time passes on, the temporary things reach an undefined threshold and become less so. And although we have enjoyed being nestled into the peace and quiet of the woods, it has also felt quite isolating living here. Our silver lining is that we live next door to Dan’s mom and stepdad, and it has truly a blessing to have them nearby. But still I can’t ignore the feeling in my heart of isolation that is deeper— more chronic. During this time in the woods, I have gained more clarity on my visions and what I am personally building towards (more on that soon), but I simultaneously feel lonely, and foggier than ever. I’m hungry for community and festivity and am unsure how to plant seeds for this vision to develop.
I’ve said this before, but it feels as though approaching my mid-30s has me straddling the familiar life of maiden and stepping into a newer mother-like energy. And with this transition comes a strong force of pushing. Pushing from passive to action, adolescent to mature. Often I feel out of body, unable to identify with who I am— who I am becoming. But one thing I know with my whole heart is that I have to continue to show up. I need to take ownership for this new chapter of my life and be fully in this present moment. For whatever it is shaping up to be.
This week I celebrated Passover. To me, this holiday represents the releasing of old stories and identities, breaking free of patterns that no longer serve and trust fall into a fresh identity and form. Moving into living freely, shining brightly for all to see with joyful abandon. And this year, this message of Passover resonated with me deeply. I felt this holiday through the tragedy of war, through my own passage of growth from old ways of living into the rebirth of new life. I felt the urge to be in the company of friends around a seder table. However, as the eve approached, I had nowhere to go.
Celebrating Jewish holidays isn’t about the religion for me. Throughout my adult life, I have fostered Judaism through collecting traditions and stories of others. I have woven this all together to create my own tapestry of identity. Because my experience of Judaism comes from many parts of the world and this diasporic experience lands in my body. So, I continue to collect and weave this truth every day of my life.
Judaism, to me, is a culture—one that is open and fluid and found in gathering around a table loaded with festive food. Our calendar follows the lunar cycle and growth of nature and the harvest of it’s fruits, and our tables are set under this moonlit glow. Oftentimes the table is filled with friends who are invited into the folds of what each of us defines Judaism to be. It is beautiful.
My father came from Israel where this is just the way many live. Judaism for my Israeli family is a heritage-first experience. We celebrate the holidays as a vessel to bring our family around the table, serving rich dishes with lineages that stretch back to Spain in the 1400s. It is a celebration of culture and a reason to feel joyful. I can count on one hand the amount of times we went to synagogue. But growing up away from our Israeli family in America had our little unit of four isolated and frankly lost to how we may navigate this type of Judaism in the US. Because here, Judaism predominantly takes on the form of a religion first and foremost. Nonetheless, we found our way through invitations to sit at the tables of family friends, adopted into the folds of their own family’s traditions and rituals.
Throughout my teen years, my family would go to Shalom and Rachel’s house, and made it annually to their Passover Seder. We’d file into the finished basement filled to the brim with long folding tables and padded chairs. A feast awaited us, keeping warm in trays along the walls. Every year it got tighter and tighter in the basement as more friends and new family members joined us. It’s a mitzvah (good luck) to invite new guests to Seder. I loved Rachel’s cooking—she is of Sephardic heritage, just like us, and her cooking always reminded me of home. She made the most incredible fish stews and matzoh ball soup, and every year I looked forward to her Passover desserts.
Eventually, this yearly seder tradition faded away. The kids grew up. We went away to college and most of us got married. Now we are having kids of our own and starting our own family units and traditions. And generally, throughout my 20s, the lack of Passover and holiday celebrations didn’t really phase me.
But as I watched The Prince of Egypt last week (a tradition in place for the past three years) I wished I could go back in time, to when someone else had to do the planning. I’d hop into the back of my dad’s car, delighted by the smell of his cologne and cigars mingling with my mum’s perfume. We’d drive to Shalom and Rachel’s, a special pair of dangle earrings hanging in my earlobes, tapping at my jawline, knowing that the night would be easy and wonderful.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. How as adults, we suddenly have the responsibility to create the life we want to live. We choose how our houses look and feel, if there’s music playing or not. If we have laughter and lightness. Everything becomes conscious. Will I decide to create a weekly tradition of Sunday pancakes? My family gathered around, sticky hands and warm smiles abound? Will I create opportunity for a weekly hike on Saturdays, carrying on the tradition of my aunt’s tiyulim that I loved so much while living in Israel? Will I choose to create joy and lightness in my life when it’s up to me to create it? I want to have wine on the porch and elongated dinners with stories and dried fruits and tea. I want to develop an environment that feels luxurious often.
I am actively growing into who I will be as a matriarch. How did I want to celebrate Passover this year, when there were no seders to attend, when I had to plan it? It was up to me to determine how it would go. It’s my hands that will foster the cozy home for my future kids and guests, hiding the afikoman and cooking and cleaning to prepare for my friends. If I want to attend the feast, I have to build it.
So, last minute I led a seder. It was quick, and only Dan, his mom, stepdad, and I sat around the table. I stumbled through the prayers and tried to explain why everything must stay in the oven so I could bless the wine before we ate. I printed an abridged Haggadah off of Medium and I didn’t have time to make a seder plate. However, I lovingly made a matzoh ball soup from scratch, fielding a recipe from my aunt the day prior. We dipped parsley in salt water and I broke the matzoh. I dug into the depths of my brain for dessert, finally landing on matzoh brittle and shelling a handful of roasted salted pistachios we had in our pantry to top it. And although it felt a bit piecemeal, the seder ultimately felt like an accomplishment. No, we weren’t a table of 18 indulging in a bountiful dinner stretching long into the night. But I created something, and it felt new. By doing something I laid the foundations for all of my seders to come.
Maybe next year I’ll set a long table with whimsical decor, and around it will sit new friends and old, my family and some children, all of us wearing our best spring outfits, and offering a dish from our family’s recipe books. We will hide an afikomen in a beautiful linen, and the sunlight from late day will fill the room with the optimism of spring. We will read the story of Passover and meld our traditions together, weaving a tapestry of identity together. There will be laughter and lots of wine. There will be joy, and all will have a seat at the table.
My blessings to you all <3.
A seder story that I found inspirational, & some table inspo for next year:
Oh wow, this brought me to tears! Thank you for sharing these pesach reflections 🩷🩷🩷 and yasher koach on leading your own seder!
This was beautiful Maya. It triggered the longing in me for being held and cared for, when we were kids- when you said “How as adults, we suddenly have the responsibility to create the life we want to live. We choose how our houses look and feel, if there’s music playing or not. If we have laughter and lightness. Everything becomes conscious,” I immediately felt fear well up inside of me, overwhelmed, and scared because it seems so daunting and lonely. But like you said, small conscious actions to create community, 1 by 1, growing our tables each year, it’s won’t be that way. Life won’t be spent alone if we take the steps to build our families and bring our people together over time rather than never taking any steps towards creating that life due to fear, shying away from conscious pursuit